


Dispersions Disparate

by chattering_tchotchke



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Fluff, Gen, just basically me exploring the parallels between yang and mercury, tagging for warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 20:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chattering_tchotchke/pseuds/chattering_tchotchke
Summary: They’re different then—that’s a given.  They’re different now—that’s no surprise.  But an almost common thread runs through each of their lives, if one only cares to look for it.





	Dispersions Disparate

There’s one child, at first, for each. The families live their lives. They’re peaceful lives, though one is only outwardly peaceful, while the other is both that and inwardly so. And the mothers leave. They leave without their children, though they both have their reasons.

Citrine leaves in fear of the man her husband has become. There isn’t any opportunity to take her son, her little Mercury, but it does save him—in only the barest definition of the word. She hasn’t even taken two steps out the door when something silver and black flashes, and she lies dead on the gravel road. She doesn’t know, never will know, what has hit her.

She had been planning to find some way, any way (including killing her husband, if it came to that) to keep her son safe. She had been planning to take him at the first chance she got. She had been planning to teach him the lesson of the difficult and terrifying choice that was leaving. Marcus knows all of this, and uses her to teach Mercury the lesson of don’t leave, or else.

Raven leaves—she was always going to, no matter what. She will be the stronger one, the one to command her tribe; it’s the purpose for which she was sent to Beacon. And Ozpin’s secrets have become too much for her to handle. It wasn’t a question of if she was going to leave, just when. She hasn’t even taken two steps out the door when her swirling black and red portal opens and takes her an ocean away.

She doesn’t take Yang, still so small, still sleeping in the cradle beside her and Taiyang’s bed. It’s a mercy for Yang, who will grow up with caring, compassionate parents, instead of being thrown headlong into a pack of bandits who care only for their own. It’s a mercy for Taiyang, as he soon realizes, that she didn’t make him believe she loved him for longer.

The fathers are different as night and day, and handle their wives leaving differently.

Marcus is a small man, not in stature, but in views—he will only ever take the side of the argument which best benefits him. He takes to drinking even more than he used to, and Mercury suffers for his mother’s “betrayal,” as his father will drunkenly describe it to him on worse nights. He drinks more, though he’s careful to not let it affect his stealth when taking out a mark. Marcus decides, one night, that Mercury will enter into the same line of work, and the boy does not protest this. Any inclination to rebel in any way has long been beaten deep inside him, so deep that even Mercury himself will not realize he has such an inclination until much later on.

Taiyang is stronger than to take Marcus’s path. He grieves, instead. He can’t help it. He loved Raven, even if she hadn’t loved him like that. Qrow and Summer are there for him and help in their own ways, help him to climb out of the deep pit he’d been left in. And eventually, he marries Summer, already his friend and companion. Yang has a mother again, and in no time at all, a little sister.

She loses the former again, in much too short a time, and Taiyang nearly dies from his grief. But it resolves—he recovers again, and is grateful to Ozpin for offering his own advice and comfort, though he still doesn’t rejoin the headmaster’s mission—and it becomes something he only faintly remembers on darker nights. Taiyang dearly wishes that they do not become Hunters like Summer was, his bright-faced and innocent daughters whom he loves so dearly. But they will, in the too-soon future, and he knows this. So the least he can do is make sure they’re as safe as they can be in this world. He’ll teach them to fight.

 

* * *

  

And so the children, both of them in their lives changed by a dispersion—though they were always different—grow. It’s only natural that they do. And as time goes on, they learn to fight.

It’s gentle for Yang.

Mercury doesn’t have anything like that.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, Yang, I want you to tell me how to do that moveset we’ve been working on. If you get it right the first time, you can try it on me after.”

“Um...uh...” The bouncing, golden-haired child glances from side to side, trying hard to make it seem to her father like she’s not looking at her uncle. Taiyang sees, anyway. He’s seen Qrow coaching Yang on some more advanced sparring tips, ever since she begged them both to “show me how to fight like you two do, please, please, please?” She takes a deep breath and starts a long-studied recitation. “Pivotaroundonmyfrontfootandduckdownlowandpunchmyelbowintoyourstomachandrollbetweenyourlegsandkickthemoutfromunderyou. But do it softly. And block my open spots.” She finishes, out of breath and glowing with pride.

“That’s it, kiddo,” Qrow crows from his chair on the side, where he’s holding Ruby, who’s watching the scene rather intensely. He’s proud of his niece, of course, after the approximately infinite number of times he’s gone over this with her. “Now your dad has to let you pound him into the ground.”

Tai looks to Yang, who bends her knees and raises her arms in a ready stance. A large smile is on her face. “On three, okay, Sunshine?”

She nods and untenses slightly.

“One...two...three!”

She instantly pivots on her _left_ foot, not the right like he’d shown her. It takes Tai off guard for a second, but he cautions her, “Block!” and strikes softly toward her. Yang’s right arm comes up in a successful block as she clenches her left hand in a fist—and her thumb is on the outside, he notes with pride; that took a while for her to learn—which she rams into his stomach in a surprisingly hard punch. She then somersaults between his legs before swiping them away in another strong move, this one a kick. Tai, lying on his back, has never been more proud of his daughter. And if he held back on defense, well, that’s something nobody needs to know.

“You did such a good job, but— oh!” He curls up dramatically to the ground, clutching at his stomach and groaning. It’s an obviously exaggerated motion, but one that amuses both Qrow and Yang. “I’ve been felled by my own daughter! She’s lain me low! I— I don’t think I’ll survive the afternoon!”

“You’re not _that_ hurt!” Yang’s voice is slightly indignant at the thought that her father, the strongest man in the whole wide world, could be crippled by such a ‘blow.’ “You’re faking it!”

Tai looks at her innocently. “I’m Faking It? But I thought my name was Daddy.”

This earns him a shriek and Yang jumping on him. “That’s too silly! Don’t say that; that’s ri-ridicli—ridiculous! You’re not that hurt! You’re not!” She repeats herself, along with a chorus of “You’re being silly!” thrown into the mix as she tries and succeeds in tickling him. Sometime during all this, Ruby leaps from Qrow’s arms to include herself in the pile.

Oh, well. She’ll appreciate the fine art of puns someday.

 

* * *

 

“Get up.”

Mercury shudders violently, but doesn’t make a move until a steel-toed boot slams into his stomach. He rolls over, retching and gasping for air. It doesn’t come, and won’t come again for a few more moments—far too long in any case. Scrambling to his hands and knees now is out of the question, but he attempts it anyway, clutching at a wall with no handholds to help him climb up.

He doesn’t understand why this is happening, but that’s no surprise. There really isn’t a reason, of course, save that his father had a desire, and took the path that was convenient for only one of them.

Marcus watches him impassively, making no move to help or hinder this endeavor. By the time his son can stand again, he is thrown back into the fray with nary warning nor rest.

A fist is driven into his stomach, something Mercury doesn’t know is something—he has no idea what to expect from anything. The only moves he has at his disposal are dodges which fail over half the time, punches so weak as to be easily swatted aside, and stumbles that only carry him out of Marcus’s reach for fractions of seconds. It’s no surprise who the victor is in this spar, if victory can really be earned by savagely beating a helpless child.

As Mercury lies on the floor, his lungs desperately heaving for air, Marcus takes his leave. He comes back with a roll of bandages and some disinfectant for a gash he’s opened up in his son’s side. He shows him how to bind up a simple wound, in case “your Aura runs out, because you’ll have to worry about that if you ever manage to unlock it.” It’s the first and last time he helps Mercury with such a thing. He leaves again, with a promise that this will happen tomorrow.

And it does go on the next day, and the next. By the end of the week, Mercury can barely move anything, but he still must get up every morning. By the end of the week, Mercury has only learned how to block a simple punch—which barely ever comes again, after he learns this. By the end of the week, Mercury has only begun to realize that his life is now a living hell, and he can’t do anything about it.

Eventually, he does learn how to fight by fighting, in this sort of ‘learn by doing’ method— if ‘learn by doing’ means that one is to be thrown into a situation with neither preparation nor support. In another life, he could have found that the true method of this saying was the way he learned best in other subjects. But it isn’t the best way to learn _fighting_ , never is a good way to learn fighting. More nights than not, Mercury collapses into sleep, covered in cuts and bruises. Occasionally a sprained wrist or broken leg is thrown into the mix.

Everyone avoids the Black household, the one that sits by itself a ways away from the village. It’s because of the rumors and truths regarding the father’s line of work. Nobody but two people hear the screams; they are so far away. They grow fainter as the months pass, not that anyone can notice that fact. By the time another house is built within shouting distance, they have stopped entirely.

 

* * *

 

And so the children, both of them in their lives so disparate, grow. It’s only natural that they do. As time goes on, they discover their Semblances, as combatant children in this world are wont to do. In each instance, someone spends the night after in a sleepless agony.

Two guesses who.

 

* * *

 

Yang finds her Semblance one day when Taiyang is going over blocking with her. With each punch she counters, she get less and less determined and driven in her actions. She’s been a little moody today, perhaps because she likes offensive training more than defensive and blocking is monotonous at any time. Well, that was the case for him, at least. He shouldn’t project onto his daughter, but she’s noticeably less eager to learn and review blocking, so it’s likely she doesn’t like it, for whatever reason.

Taiyang realizes that he could make this more enticing for her, and he teaches her a block and dodge combo that ends in a transition that will let her make offensive moves. It instantly makes her more interested, and he notes that he’ll have to make combinations like this more often; she learns better like this, when there’s more exciting things to do.

So they start the moves, Yang’s Aura swelling into her arms as she counters each blow. It’s odd, though, that he can sense her Aura not exactly depleting with his punches, but instead retreating into her core, roiling and growing inside. It’s new, and strange. She messes up one of the dodges after tripping on her own feet, and sprawls on the ground, which she punches in frustration.

It could just be Taiyang’s imagination, but— her hair—

They start again. Yang fails again, but this is due to her overeagerness to switch to the defensive. She misses the hit as Taiyang dodges. This time, it can’t be his imagination; he’ll swear up and down that he saw her hair _glow_ — but it could still be the light on this clear and sunny day; it fades away in a flash too fast for him to clearly see much of anything.

“Third time’s a charm, right?” He helps her up from where she’s fallen. “Just remember to take it easy for now. We’ll get to speeding it up later.”

“Yeah.” She’s frustrated and won’t look at him, clenching her fists in anger at her mistake. “I can do it.”

She can. The third time they start the set, her movements are still a tad overeager, but they have much more purpose and control to them. She can do it, certainly, but she’s not in a position to do it now, not when Taiyang finally sees why she messed up the dodge the first time, not after her feet twist under her again.

With an aggravated cry, Yang punches the ground beside her—and her hair _is_ glowing a hot white, and her _eyes_ are too, with an almost familiar bright red—and instantly creates a small crater in it as her Aura releases through her blow.

It doesn’t register for a moment that this is her Semblance, she’s finally found it, but when it does register, he can only think the best of it. Growing stronger with anger; well, the hardest part will be learning to keep a level head in battle. But after careful testing and examination of how it works, it’s found to be nothing so simple.

It’s that she grows stronger from the hits she takes, storing in the energy, and can release that energy in a burst of anger. She grows stronger from the hits she takes. The hits she’ll take.

That night, Yang can’t sleep. She’s beyond elated. Excitement buzzes through her veins, singing in her head. She’ll finally be a Hunter, the best Hunter in all of Remnant. 

That night, Taiyang can’t sleep. There’s a lump somewhere, in his bed or pillow or body, but for the life of him he can’t tell which. His mind is awash with one thousand thoughts that spin around in circles and buzz in his eyes and ears. Something is tight, tight, tight in his chest. Too tight. An achy stress scratches at his back, lightly at first, then digs its claws in and refuses to leave. A sense of wrong, an overwhelming one, crashes over him from time to time like the tide does down at the beach. Wrong, wrong, wrong that it has to be like this.

He can’t help but wish Yang has a different Semblance, one she doesn’t need to get hurt and hit in order to use. Is there a limit to it? How hurt will she get—she will, she will, but it was inevitable in any case—when she uses it? What happens if she uses it and can’t land the hit? What if the Grimm she’s fighting is—or are? dust, he hopes not, hopes there will never be so many—stronger? What if—

No.

Everything that is, still is. He can’t change reality, otherwise Summer would still be here. The least he can do now is make sure Yang can defend herself in this world. He’ll find the best way she can use it. They’ll work through this, like they have for everything else. They’ll find a way, somehow. They can do little else, after all, and he’d rather Yang walk down her path with her head high and her steps sure.

But for the rest of the night, he still doesn’t sleep. The only semblance of consolation he has is that she finally managed to nail those moves.

 

* * *

 

It’s during another day of training, right around the same time, that Mercury find his Semblance. He’s grown—leaner, stronger, faster, more cynical—and can hold his own against Marcus a little more. That’s not to say he can; Marcus is more cautious than that. Any advantage Mercury might have is immediately cut down. Any advantage.

When Mercury first flashes out of Marcus’s way during a fight, the former assumes that he was just quick and lucky. Marcus had been drinking the night before, and thinks some of the booze might have carried over. They think nothing of it. No suspicion of something more tickles at the back of Mercury’s mind, no matter how much he will believe later that he knew everything at that moment.

The second time, it’s unmistakeable. There’s no way anyone could run ten meters in a second. It’s a Semblance, Mercury’s Semblance, for sure, and a thing makes Marcus angry. It’s cowardly and weak, to his mind. If a person’s Semblance is a reflection of their soul, well— he thinks that it’s perfect for his son. But surely not now.

“So you found your Semblance.”

Mercury would be elated, if not for the years of self-training to not show joy over anything. If he did, it’d be taken away for sure, and he can’t help but hate that. So he stands there, his face a mask of cool surprise

“It’s a crutch, is all that is. No real fighter runs from a couple punches.”

Mercury can’t move. The glow that he felt in his chest a few seconds ago has now become a freezing waterfall that makes him want to collapse to his knees. He knows what is coming; he’s seen his father do this plenty of times to unsuspecting Hunters. He never thought he’d be strong enough for Marcus to do it to him.

“It just makes you weak.”

Marcus is only a few steps away now, and Mercury doesn’t know when that happened. He still can’t move, something for which he’ll never forgive himself.

“But I’ll be generous.”

Generosity is, in fact, not a virtue Marcus Black has practiced in a long, long time. They both know this, Mercury more than his father. The latter doesn’t care.

“You can have this back once you get stronger.”

That night, Mercury can’t feel his Semblance— can barely feel anything anymore— can only feel the hole that gapes all through him now. He can’t even remember what it felt like. It’s gone, until he can get stronger. He’ll never get strong enough to get it back. It’s an ever-rising bar, the standard of strength by which Marcus measures. Its average height, though, is a steady ‘stronger than however strong Mercury is.’

Marcus is a small man indeed, to lord such an agonizing power over another.

And so Mercury is left with one thing dominating his thoughts: that one-way ticket that gave him a slightly better chance of getting out. It’s gone. Ripped out in a single swipe that left his eyes burning with cold. If he’d ever had any doubts about hating his father, they were gone now. Right now, he hates his father more than anything, with himself as a close second. He had been so close. If he hadn’t just frozen—

But what’s happened has happened, he thinks bitterly, and he can’t do anything about it. Oh, he’ll become stronger, for sure. He’ll get strong enough to beat his old man, maybe one night when he’s drunker than usual, and force him to return his Semblance. Marcus likes to not pull his punches, well, Mercury won’t hold back on his kicks. He’ll get stronger, all right. He’ll get so strong that no one will ever tell him what he can’t do. And he’ll do anything to get that way.

 

* * *

 

It was always obvious, from the beginning, even, that the children would have different lives. They could have been so similar, but one was only ever a twisted mockery of the other. Blame this discrepancy on whomever you wish—the fathers, perhaps.

In the following years, truths about Semblances come to light. The truth always does, whether in a few or in a thousand years, and it always blinds some. Yang learns to use hers better and more carefully, to lean on it less, and Mercury is left to vent to another about the lack of such. One can only wonder what would have happened if Marcus or Taiyang had been different from who they were then, if everything would be different now.

But possibilities and could-have-been’s aside, the present cannot be changed. That is not to say mistakes cannot be rectified, but what is, is; what has happened, has happened; what has been lost, has been lost. The past, too, cannot be upended, no matter what has happened. But the future—

Well, the future is all made of possibilities and could-be’s; the future is not, is never, set in stone. Perhaps— but who can say? If you’re hoping to get an answer out of me on that end, I must say that you’ll only find yourself quite disappointed. I only have knowledge of what is and has been, not what will be—you know that, don’t you? Although, I am almost sorry to disappoint you.

I suppose it is now time for me to leave. I have answered all for which I was asked, and I don’t give more than that. Do take care while handling my lamp, though. Polish it once or twice. Maybe I’m vain in that regard, but I do think I deserve at least that much respect. The old man always gave me that, in any case, and— ah, I’m starting to fade now...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but I do wonder what my next question will be...


End file.
